Percipience and Perspicacity
by FallChild92
Summary: Neither of which were required for Remus Lupin to understand exactly why he felt like he did. RS/SB.  Disclaimer: not mine. I promise.
1. Chapter 1

I was on the bed with _Hogwarts: A History_ on my lap, which was not an unusual occurence. One leg was being used to prop up the book, and the other was straight out, taking up a bit more room on the bed than a normal fourth-year bloke's leg tends to do. It wasn't that nice being taller than people, they noticed me much more easily.

"Moony...?" Sirius said, and I felt his head move to look up at me.

His head was, quite unfortunately, settled rather decidedly on my upper thigh. The one without the book on it, of course, but it was still not an ideal arrangement, considering that I would rather focus my attention on my reading, rather than on the mass of shaggy black hair practically on my lap.

I ignored him, as was also not an unusual occurence.

"Moony..." he whined petulantly.

"Yes, my dearest darling Sirius?" I replied, fighting with what little self-control I had to keep my eyes resolutely on my book.

"We ought to make a map... one of Hogwarts, like. With moving people and Filch and Snivellus, so we can see where everyone is..."

His voice was wandering, and I could tell he was idly considering the idea, but was too sleepy to really care much. I could understand that; James and Pete were already asleep, and I was reading by wandlight. Whenever I had something I desperately wanted to complete before the morning, Sirius usually decided he could be helpful by "keeping me awake." Generally, that meant being annoying as he could manage before I snapped at him.

I ignored him again, trying to find where I had left off. My eyes had been focused on a certain square centimeter of the book, not moving, for ten seconds before I realized I was focusing on Sirius's silence instead of the text.

"Moooooooony," he finally broke the silence with, accompanied with a rather large yawn.

"What?" was my monosyllabic reply.

"D'you think we could do it? The map, I mean?"

He yawned again and I supposed if I ignored him he'd eventually fall asleep.

It was an effective tactic.

However, now I had the blasted problem of a sleeping, slightly snoring, _entirelyadorable _Sirius on my leg. This wasn't one I had dealt with before; most of the time, Sirius had the decency to get off of my bed before falling asleep. I pondered the situation for a few moments, before setting _Hogwarts: A History _down on my bedstand. I tapped Sirius on his forehead.

"Mmrgh," he enunciated, which, I will admit, was more of a response than I expected.

"You going back to your bunk?"

"No... too tired... no walking..." he mumbled, eyes still shut.

"Come on, Pads," I said, allowing my tone to bely the amount of pissiness I was experiencing, given that he wasn't listening anyways.

I sat where I was for a few seconds before deciding it was rather uncomfortable leaning over Sirius. I grabbed Sirius by his armpits and pulled him up next to me, him being rather unhelpful in the matter. After all, if he insisted on remaining in my bed, it wouldn't be ideal for him to spend the entire night using my thigh as a pillow.

"What'chu do that for? Was comfy," he said, or at least, that's what I think he meant. Sirius certainly wasn't very easy to wake up.

I ignored him, instead focusing on the fact that Sirius was laying next to me; one of my arms over his shoulder, my hand in his armpit, and his head on my chest. I shut up the rapid fluttering in my chest and stomach by trying to extract my arm from the dangerous situation, hoping to scoot away in the process.

Given the fact that I had been under the impression that Sirius was still almost asleep, I was quite surprised when, as I tried to remove my arm from around his shoulder, his hand kept it from leaving. I... well, I supposed it wouldn't make much sense to wrestle my hand away from him when he was set on being cuddly, was there? Not that he was cuddly very often; I usually found a way to gingerly remove myself from his vincinity. It was easier than ignoring the shaky nerves and quickened heartbeat I generally experienced in situations such as this.

My (embarassingly soft) hand was in his (roughly callused) hand, my arm was around his shoulder, and his head was nestled somewhere between my chest and my arm. It was comfortable, in an oddly on-edge sort of way. I spent a few moments contemplating how I was going to get out of the position previously stated.

Well, I didn't need to, did I? He was too asleep to notice. Even if I moved away, we'd probably wake up in a cuddly position, and I supposed this would be better than spooning. Might as well leave it be, and just try to ignore... it. I picked up my still-glowing wand with my free arm, muttering _nox, _setting it on my bedstand as well.

Deciding to stay where I was sounded wonderful in my head, but a few minutes later, when I found myself still unable to focus my mind on anything besides how blasted heavy his head felt on my chest, and the way I could feel the warmth from his breath, and-had his hand on mine always felt this electric and tingly and warm? He was asleep, and I felt oddly voyeuristic, enjoying him like this.

It didn't matter, however, because I decided that this was the closest to perfect I'd ever feel.


	2. Chapter 2

History of Magic was always unwaveringly boring. Despite this, I generally paid attention, because I couldn't very well expect anyone else to take notes for me. Sometimes, the subject was remarkably interesting, though Binns' drone usually managed to make it much less enjoyable.

This class, however, I found myself unable to pay any attention whatsoever. A glance at my notes showed sentences such as _"Giants were unhappy, smashed pigs, pigs ate cows, development left mountain…" _If I were to hazard a guess as to the source of my distraction, I'd place it on the infuriatingly shaggy black head in front of me. Padfoot. We had woken up in roughly the same position as we fell asleep in, a tangle of limbs and morning breath and bed hair.

He had treated it like any other morning, and so I had followed suit, choosing not to remark on the fact that he had fallen asleep in my bed, and that we had woken up in a decidedly queer position. I supposed it would eventually be forgotten by us both, if he hadn't already.

Apparently, he hadn't.

He turned around slightly, passing a folded piece of parchment over his shoulder. In any other class, he would have dropped the note onto the floor and nudged it towards me with his foot, but we didn't have to worry about Binns noticing.

His note was short.

"_So I fell asleep on your bed? Why didn't you wake me up?"_

My own writing, neat and small, contrasted directly with his sloping, spindly hand.

"_I tried. You wouldn't get up. You're very heavy, you know."_

I passed it to him by dropping it unceremoniously past his shoulder.

"_Wait, so you moved me?"_

His reply was passed as rudely as mine was, tossed over his shoulder. I barely caught it.

"_Yes. You fell asleep on my leg, I couldn't very well leave you there."_

"_Cor, so it's your fault I woke up like that? Like we were… I dunno, like that?"_

"_No. I moved you next to me. You took it upon yourself to grab me and pull me over."_

I was quite glad when the bell rang, although I found that I had entirely lost the thread of the lesson Binns had been rambling on, which meant that I had missed this entire chapter, which meant that I would have to study it thoroughly tonight, which meant… that I'd be up late again. Ah, well, perhaps I'd be able to convince Sirius to actually sleep in his own bed instead of staying up with me.

I stood up.

"Remus! Wait," Sirius said from in front of me.

I looked up, smiling weakly.

"I'd like to get to my next class, Pads."

"Bugger your next class. Did you get the notes for this lesson?" he replied, his smile lopsided and entirely Padfoot.

"No, I didn't. Can I go now?"

I didn't really particularly want to stand in the empty classroom (save Binns, who was barely there anyways, standing wispily at the front, sorting papers) talking to Sirius. Though it wasn't the reason I was eager to leave the classroom, I had a good excuse; my next class with Slughorn was in the dungeon, which was quite a ways from History of Magic.

"Fine. I hope you know, I'll be whipping you into taking notes from the book tonight, alright?" Sirius said.

* * *

Unfortunately, Sirius made good on his statement. I found myself in much the same situation that night as I had been the night previous. Pete and James were snoring in their own beds, Pete being the vastly louder of the two. Both of my legs were stretched out, and _A History of Magic _was settled on my lap. While it was a less agreeable a leg-companion than Sirius's head was, it was also much safer, and much more conducive to study.

"Are you done yet?" Sirius whined.

He was positioned happily on the other side of the bed, leaning on a post, well away from me. I supposed he had become wary of touching me, given the circumstances of awakening that day. However, I was sure he'd lose track of his resolution within the next day, if not sooner.

"Nearly there. If you were in your own bed, I might find it easier to finish."

"Or you'd fall asleep. Think of the notes that would not be taken! Their poor souls, neglected by a slumbersome Remus Lupin."

I bit down a smile.

"You know quite as well as I do that I'm more likely to stay awake than you are. Dare I recall last night's events?"

"Bollocks. That was a once in a lifetime affair. I have your flawless countenance to gaze upon, and all you've got is a musty book. Who do you think is more likely to stay awake?"

This time, I was not successful in keeping my face straight, and a small smile crept through. He seemed to notice, and a doglike grin appeared on his face.

I chose to keep my eyes my book, though they'd rather be focused on the other bloke on my bed, my hand on my quill, undeterred by the fact that it would be better put to use if it were running through a certain head of dark hair, and my mind on giant wars, despite that it kept wandering to what I wish I had the nerve to do.

"Your eyes aren't moving. You aren't reading. Stop being useless." Sirius's voice was a reminder that I wasn't doing as perfect a job as I thought I was at keeping my head clear and focused.

Although I had been doing an admirable job up until Sirius had started talking to me, I decided now that simply quitting would be the best route. I was a few pages away from finishing, yes, but I didn't suppose I could keep focused long enough to copy notes on them.

I could suffer a few point reduction from my grade, it wasn't like I didn't usually get O's anyways. Sirius and James wouldn't be happy with incomplete notes, but the bitter streak in me decided that if they wanted perfection, they could do it themselves.

"I'm finished, your bed misses you," I said as I closed the book, parchment still inside. I set my quill next to the inkpot on my bedside table.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thanks to the people who have reviewed (and even left their comfortable main fandom to do so!). Thanks, also, to those who have favorited or alerted but not reviewed—your support is welcome as well. _

_ I do hope I managed to do alright in differentiating Sirius's personality from Remus's. I haven't written as Sirius before._

* * *

I really don't get what the huge deal was. I fell asleep on his bed two nights ago. Wasn't that really it? I mean, I suppose I did make a bit of a fool of myself, naffing about when half asleep. I may or may not have initiated cuddles, given the position I woke up in. But is that really why Moony is being so... well, moony?

I mean, it's not like I'm an ice queen or anything, I've been known to be cuddly. James and Pete are quite used to the weight of my arms on their shoulders. I've sat on James's lap before, and come to think of it, Pete's lap would be a nice chair as well—all cushiony and what-have-you.

Besides the point. Remus was staring off into space in the certain way that had half-earned him his nickname. However, this was out of character at the moment. He had a book in his lap. We were in the common room, and he was supposed to be finishing the bloody two chapters Slughorn had assigned, not to mention the essay. Hell, even _Pete _had finished his reading, not to mention James and I, who had also completed our essays.

James and Pete had retreated to the dorm. I couldn't very well leave Remus in the common room alone with a giant book like that (the book might fancy a bite out of poor Moony's face; it certainly looked ferocious enough). I had decided to be noble and sit with Remus. Odd, that. Usually, being noble was James's job.

It wasn't too noble a choice, I supposed. I didn't generally do much supposing, but seeing as I didn't have much else to do, besides watching—well, that brings me right back to the point, doesn't it? Staying back with Remus instead of pursuing a game of Exploding Snap with my other dorm-mates wasn't noble. I liked to spend time with Remus, even when he was being all lost in thought and quiet-like.

He was pretty. It wasn't right for me to think that about blokes, but he was. Hell, blokes aren't even _supposed_ to be pretty, never mind if it was wrong of their mates to think about it. Therefore, it was entirely Remus's fault.

I think it's the lips. They're fuller, and pinker, and more delicate than the chapped ones most blokes have. It might also be the way Remus's eyelashes—alright, Black, enough ogling (it's not ogling, dammit, it's _careful observation_, that's what it is...).

"Are you ever going to finish the Potions reading?" I asked suddenly, most likely a diversion intended to distract myself from my thoughts.

He looked up, those eyelashes I had been studying—no, _carefully observing_—framing his eyes in a way no bloke's eyelashes ought to be allowed to. He blinked. I was too busy watching his eyelashes to hear what he had said.

"What was that?" I asked, smiling winningly.

"I asked you if you'd like to take a moment to consider what day it is."

Oh. Well... that... that certainly put a damper on the careful observing I had been up to. Remus usually did get like this around the moon, and that was... tomorrow night. I felt like a bit of a useless mate, considering that I hadn't even thought of that. I had assumed his periods of distracted-ness had something to do with me. Well, not that most things don't have something to do with me.

"Oh. Well... I'm sorry, would you like me to do your essay for you?" I asked, most helpfully, if I were to give myself credit.

"Slughorn may be slightly barmy, but he's not entirely daft. Your scrawl looks nothing like my handwriting." His quiet drawl would be almost charming, if it wasn't so annoying.

"Oh, yes, what an utter berk I am, to have attempted helping my fellow comrade." I put a hand over my heart for effect.

He put a hand on his forehead (a very slender, also very pretty hand), closing his eyes. There were those lashes, how the hell were they so _long_—I tore my mind from them. Remus looked... tired. He looked tired, and worn, and I just wanted to hug him and nuzzle into his hair _goddammit Sirius, since when have you been such an utter __**poof**__?_

But that was besides the point as well.

The point was that Remus looked unhappy. He looked defeated, and he rarely looked defeated, particularly not when he hadn't faced anything particularly stressful. Was the moon really hurting him this month?

He always hurt around the moon, I could tell. He moved more gingerly, as if any misstep might set off flares of pain in his muscles and joints. He never mentioned it. Sometimes when James or Pete would clap him on the back, or grab his arm, he'd wince. I don't think they noticed that he ached when he was nearing the transformation.

Maybe that was a side effect of my _careful observation_.

* * *

It was all because he was staring at me in that immensely obvious way of his. I couldn't very well expect myself to keep focused on my Potions text when I had those bloody grey eyes focused straight on me.

Did he still feel like that one night had been my fault? Why was he still thinking about that one night? He ought to have forgotten it by now. Or perhaps it wasn't that; perhaps I... well, I oughn't...

It was unnerving. It was difficult to think with those eyes on me, it was impossible to read when I could feel him looking at me. I didn't like it. I knew he couldn't be staring at me for the reason I often stare... no, stare isn't the word, observe is much more becoming. Well, then, the way I often observe him.

I am scrawny and pale and a bloke, with an unremarkable face and an overlarge nose. He is beautiful and aristocratic, and his hair falls into his face with more grace than I have in my entire body. He is also a bloke, therefore, he cannot be staring at me for the reason that makes my chest burn to think about.

"Are you ever going to finish the Potions reading?" he asks, which causes me to look up jerkily, and think, flickeringly, of the fact that he would even manage to make that look graceful if he had been in my place.

"Why have you been staring at me?" I ask, and I do not think beforehand.

"What was that?" I am relieved that he obviously had been to busy being lost in whatever self-contained world he carries around with him, because I would rather he not hear my question.

"I asked you if you'd like to take a moment to consider what day it is." So I lie.

"Oh. Well... I'm sorry, would you like me to do your essay for you?"

This makes me blink again in surprise. He has offered to do work for me? Me, who I half-fear only exist to help other people with their schoolwork and pranks?

"Slughorn may be slightly barmy, but he's not entirely daft. Your scrawl looks nothing like my handwriting." I cover up my surprise with what I wish was wit.

"Oh, yes, what an utter berk I am, to have attempted helping my fellow comrade."

What human uses the phrase "fellow comrade,"other than Sirius Black? He is beautiful and he is impossible to stand, and he is also the only thing I think I have ever yearned for.

I place my right hand on my forehead and close my eyes. This is something I am not prepared to deal with tonight. Yes, the moon is having an effect on me, and even with my eyes closed I can feel the moon pulling, just as the ocean's tide is caused by the moon's gravitational pull, I feel it. In my joints and marrow and in my muscles, and in my mind as well.

Tonight, my distraction and subsequent defeat are not due to the moon. They are because of the brightest star in the sky, the one twice as bright as even the second-most. They are because of Sirius.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Hey, all! Or few. Whichever. I'm glad you're reading the story, and thanks very much for doing so. _

_Something popped into my mind a few days ago: Sirius is already called Padfoot when they don't become Animagus until after when this is set. Sorry for the lapse in judgment. Forgive me! Perhaps they've already discovered their Animagus forms, and are simply having trouble getting to them? _

_Also, I swear I fixed this the day after I posted the chapter, but Alice is not Longbottom yet. I'm a sad excuse for a writer for making the mistake, and thanks to What a Rock, who pointed it out. It's fixed now. Sorry._

_Enough excuses. Along with the fic._

He had a _girlfriend. _A _trollop, _unattractive and annoying and bothersome on very many levels—whiny and unintelligent and...

I bit down on the inside of my lip. I just absolutely had to sit behind the two of them, didn't I? In History of Magic, with Sirius right in front of me and this bloody _female _right next to Sirius.

It would be fair, I suppose, to be a bit less biased about Alice Lund. She was sweet enough, not all that annoying, really. She wasn't like any of the fawning masses of girls who Sirius could have chosen. Her hair was shiny and her face was blemish-free, and she didn't complain about how much time Sirius spent with the Marauders.

What I would never budge on was that she oughn't snog my best mate in the common room, or write him notes in History of Magic, or flip her hair out of her eyes in that certain bloody _way _that Sirius thought was so pretty. I personally think it looks a bit like she has a tic.

Bearing down on the nib of his quill more than was strictly necessary, I realized that I was paying too much attention to how Sirius's eyes were looking towards Alice.

Alice seemed to be gazing out of the window in thought, though I was sure she was purposefully displaying to Sirius how very lucky he was to have someone so pretty. Who, with the luck to be on snogging terms with Sirius, wouldn't think about the boy just as often as their heart beat?

I think about Sirius more than that, and I'm not lucky enough to ever have the chance to snog him.

It would be nice to pull out my Potions text and flip to the section about pustule-potions and learn how to brew one, simply for the sake of intellectual curiosity, and subsequently accidentally spill it all over Alice Lund's _stupid_ sodding _face._

My quill dug into the sheet of parchment in front of me. Instead of words, a thick blot of ink appeared, and I huffed in frustration. I don't huff in frustration often. Why did Sirius have to do this sort of thing to me? I was fully aware that I was being melodramatic about the entire affair, but I wasn't used to jealousy.

Well, that may have been an understatement. I remembered when I had first noticed how very handsome Sirius was, and that the boy had muscles where I only had tendons and sinew. I had been jealous then. I had wished that he wasn't plain, that I could be like Sirius; high cheekbones and carved brow and sharp eyes.

I found my mind eager to latch onto the topic of Sirius's looks. A small voice in the back of my brain told me that I really ought to be taking notes, not allowing my mind to wander like this. I ignored the voice effectively.

Sirius was... well, he was handsome, but the word didn't seem perfect. The careless way he carried himself, the frame of his shoulders, the line of his throat when he threw his head back to laugh, that was where the draw was. That was what I found himself watching.

It made very much sense how so many girls tripped over themselves in fluttery nervousness when it came to Sirius. What did not make sense was how Sirius, though he had proudly declared to the Marauders that he was above petty things such as girls and snogging, had a girlfriend.

I bit down on his lip once again.

The bell rang.

I stood up, gathering my parchment and quill and ink into my bag. I did not allow my eyes to follow Sirius, who was leaving the room as I wasted time neatened up his bag. I most certainly did not allow myself the wish that my eyes could carry a weightless sort of poison to melt through the back of Alice Lund's robes.

I had relocated myself to the library. After ten minutes of trying to get work finished in the common room, I had given up. Alice laughed too much at Sirius's jokes and Sirius made too many jokes, when he should be making them to Pete and James and I, not to some bint like Alice.

The library was quiet and calm and there was no bothersome female laughter there. I liked it. I liked sitting at a table with three books in front of me, and I liked studying.

It would be much better if Sirius was there.

"Moony! I've been wasting away in the common room. Why didn't you tell me you had to go to the library?"

I looked up and blinked a few times. Why had Sirius come? He had been enjoying a wet snog when I had left.

"I thought you were having a right good time where you were."

Sirius laughed. I wasn't sure why.

"Alice is nice but she's not you. She's a bird. The Marauders are loads better than that."

"You seemed to have been enjoying her in ways you can't very well enjoy us."

He looked confused for a few moments. He then looked as if an unexpected thought had sprung into his mind, and he laughed.

"Imagine snogging Prongs. He'd probably accidentally elbow me in the face, he's like a pile of broomsticks."

I turned back to my books, trying very hard to keep my mind off of the mental image of snogging James.

"Or Pete. I'd bet money that his stomach would eat me whole if I got that near to it."

Books. Books books books, reading and words and copperplate ancient text. That was a much better subject for my mind to dwell on. He was silent now, his brief laughter finished. I glanced up. He was leaning back in his chair, studying me.

"What, no mental images of snogging me?" I asked. It burst out, unbidden and fully formed, like a bit of magical fire after I'd eaten Pepper Imps.

"Well, no, I think I'd enjoy that too much to poke fun at it," Sirius replied with a rather lecherous wink.

I choked.

I then turned back to the book closest to me.

My book was a much better companion than Sirius. It did not joke in ways that hit much too close to what I wished was the truth. It provided hard fact and unmoving text; it did not give me electrical tingly feelings in my chest and in my throat. It did not make me feel foolish for taking its words for face-value, before realizing that no, of course it wasn't true, of course Sirius didn't think that.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews. They make me happy. The favorites and alerts do too, but reviews are even better. _

_ I tried the two-POV format again, and I hope it works as well this time. I'm sorry all of my chapters are so short, it's like a block for me; once I get near 1000 words I can't get any farther._

* * *

I kissed Sirius. I'm not sure why, and it was most certainly a mistake.

We had been sitting together on my four-poster, doing more talking than working on my Defense essay. I said something about his girlfriend, and he said something about how I had never had one and that I was just jealous.

I informed him that I wasn't jealous of him, at least not in that area. He countered with the statement that I was probably jealous of her, then. I didn't grace his absurd notion with a reply.

The entire ordeal was light and conversational and not bitter, even though I didn't precisely _feel _not-bitter.

I finished the essay with a final quill-flourish, and as I did so, I apparently lost the last remnants of my sanity. He was sitting on my left side, shoulder touching shoulder, and I could feel his warmth and I could imagine the thrum of blood under his skin and it was so _real._

He said something clever, and I laughed quietly and turned my head to face him. His nose was inches from my own, and his eyes looked dark and his eyelids looked heavy because the only light in the room was from my wand. Sirius didn't move, simply looked at me, and I could taste his breath.

It was so very easy to lean in the few inches between us, to tilt my head slightly and place my lips on his own.

He stayed where he was for a few moments, and I had allowed myself the delusion of supposing that perhaps, maybe, just possibly, he felt sparks when we touched and his heart was fluttering now as well, that his pulse was just as rapid as mine.  
Quite obviously, this wasn't true. He jerked away as if my face was made of hot coals, and he scrambled backwards, and it was obvious that he thought I was repulsive, a queer on top of being a lycanthrope. Even if he was into blokes, which he wasn't because normal boys weren't, then he wouldn't be interested in me because my nose was too large for my face and I didn't have the teenage-boy muscles, just bones and skin—this I realized in the few seconds between when he pulled away, and when he made a small noncommittal noise from his position at the edge of the bed.

"Sorry," I squeaked, or I may have just squeaked, not being in the position to verbalize properly.

"I—well, I, er, my..." he responded, and stood up, and went back to his own bed. He stumbled on the way there, and banged his shin against the bedframe.

I started shaking. My head hurt.

What was that? Why had I done that? This placed second on the list of foolish things I had done, right below wandering out of my house that full moon years ago.

He would hate me now. I had kissed him. We were both blokes, and he would be out of reach even if that didn't matter. But that _did _matter, he probably was lying in bed right then, wondering why he had been stupid enough to become friends with someone disgusting like me.

* * *

It had been a well enough night. I liked staying up with Moony. It was much better than staying up alone, and it was loads better than sleeping, because sleeping was boring.

We had been talking more than working, and it was nice. He had looked silly in his bedclothes, but it was rather adorable as well, like a little kitten or a, well, a baby owl or something like that.

But then the infuriating bloke had decided to _kiss _me. His lips were soft and not all chapped, like mine were, and his lips were even better than Alice's, a good deal better, actually.

When he kissed me, I couldn't think past the feeling, the sensation and the pounding of my heart. When I kissed with Alice, I could think about loads of things, like how I hoped she'd finally give me a handjob or like how I hoped the lunch today was good.

I didn't fancy other boys. It didn't work like that. I was with Alice, and she was beautiful and a good snog too. She didn't confuse me like Remus did. Remus always confused me.

Just like now. He had kissed me, but he obviously couldn't feel... like, well, like all of this, like I did when he looked up at me from across the room. Like my pulse was buzzing so fast my heart might just give up. I didn't feel that way because I fancied him, of course, just because... well, it was sort of...

It was his fault I felt like this. He wasn't simple and boyish like James, or stumbling like Peter. He didn't have a one-track mind like the other Marauders. James was maybe better looking than Remus, but James played Quidditch and chased Evans while Remus stayed up late to do essays and to read books that he wasn't even assigned. Remus _thought _and knew so much more than the rest of us_,_ and maybe if that fact was kind of erotic than it still wasn't my fault.

He made me tingly and happy even more than Alice did, which was precisely why I pulled away when he kissed me. Because that wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't want that to happen. It would mean that I fancied Remus, and that I would be willing to dump Alice for him if he maybe kissed me one more time, and if I didn't get frightened and pull back.

Because that couldn't be true. That was wrong.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Thank all of you very very much for being spectacular. Reviews honestly make my day (especially yours, Lyri, 3). The next chapter will most likely be the last, maybe another after that. I'm happy to say that this chapter is the longest so far, though still only ~1,600 words._

* * *

He seemed normal.

Maybe a bit afraid.

Perhaps he was avoiding me more than usual.

However, he seemed normal. I tried to be his parallel in the matter, but I fear I failed miserably. Often for the next day I caught him watching me in the middle of exams; in the common room; in the Great Hall. His eyes seemed to follow me and it was unnerving.

I was sure of what he was thinking. He was thinking that I was revolting. He regretted allowing me to think of him the perverse way I obviously had begun to.

When I caught him watching me, I was hardly in the position to stare back; therefore, I wasn't sure what sort of look he had in his eyes. It was bound to be unpleasant.

During dinner in the Great Hall the very next day after My Big Mistake, James confronted us.

"What the hell is going on between you two great prats?"

Peter appeared frightened. After noticing that James's eyes were directed towards Sirius and I (quite a feat, given that we were as far away from each other as possible), Pete looked reassured.

Sirius smiled genially. He didn't appear to have a singular clue what James was on about.

"I haven't a singular clue what you're on about, mate," Sirius shared.

I looked at my plate. Perhaps my shepherd's pie would open up its gaping maw and swallow me whole, and I wouldn't have to deal with this excruciating business any longer.

"Remus, then. Explain." Jame's insistent tone removed me from this fantasy.

"Haven't an idea, James."

"You're supposed to be the logical one! You and Sirius have been avoiding each other, and normally you two stick together like... like..."

"Old boxed-up nut brittle?" Peter offered.

"Bless you and your food metaphors," Sirius said, hoping to be off of the whole topic.

"Like nut brittle, then. And now you're all-" and at this, James waved his arms in what I'm sure he believed was a descriptive manner.

"Now we're all, yes. I'm still not sure what you're talking about," I said.

James was quiet now, mumbling to Peter, eliciting a laugh from the blond.

Although the subject had essentially been dropped, my mind would not do the same.

I glanced up from my pie, which I had only shoved around my plate as of yet. Sirius's goddamn grey eyes, the same sort of colour as the sky when it was stormy and sometimes just as frightening. I held his gaze for a moment, and he dropped his eyes.

Now he probably thought I still entertained ideas that he was not repulsed by me. Poor bloke.

* * *

The days passed similarly to this. I ran on autopilot, thinking then more than I used to about things that took place only inside my head. Not what was happening around me, never that. Not what happened to the closest friendship I used to have.

James accommodated for what had happened, the thing he still didn't understand. However, he's always been closer to Sirius than I, for reasons obvious. Pete simply follows whatever James does. I have been left mostly alone.

* * *

I have been in bed for more than an hour now, sleep being generally elusive, now moreso than ever. I wonder vaguely if Sirius is thinking about the subject my mind will not leave alone.

Probably not. He'd likely rather just pretend that it never happened.

It would be nice, though...

I did not allow my mind to drift past the initial spark of fantasy. It would be better if I could get over my... what was it? Did I fancy him? Obsession? Probably obsession, it wasn't innocent enough to be termed fancying. I am a queer and a werewolf. Innocent isn't a term fit to describe me.

I hear someone shuffling in their bed. The covers are being cast aside. It's either Pete or Sirius, given the direction it's coming from.

It would be a perfect fit if it's Sirius, and he wants to bring me outside of the dorm to hit me or something similar to that.

It is certainly Sirius.

He shuffles towards my bunk now, trying to be quiet.

My bedcurtain is pulled back, his shaggy head peeking in.

"You awake?"

I mumble sleepily, artificially, and roll over to face him. My heart is jumping nervously.

"Now I am. What is it?"

"Get up. Get your trainers and trousers on," he whispers. He doesn't sound angry or like he wants to hurt me at all.

I obediently do as he says, cursing my lack of foresight, because I'm not wearing socks and the floors are very cold.

I gather up the clothing that I need bumpily, a bit louder than I'd prefer, as Sirius sits on my bed. I notice that he is already fully dressed, and wearing a jacket as well.

Soon, I'm dressed as well, my own jacket present and accounted for (patched-up around the elbows but still quite serviceable).

He stands up and claps his hands together to signify commencement. The effect is lost, because he is forced to do so nearly silently.

"Out we go, then," he says. If I am not imagining it, his voice sounds as shaky as I feel.

The walk is silent, and he leads. We pass through the common room, out to the corridor, through the tapestry hung twelve paintings past the Fat Lady. Eventually, we are exiting the small door closest to the Quidditch pitch. It isn't cold outside, just nippy enough to make my ears a little uncomfortable.

"What are we doing?" I venture to ask.

"Broomshed."

Though his reply doesn't help answer my question at all, I leave it be. Once we reach the shed in question, he Alohamoras the door, and I decide to stay outside of the shed until he calls me in.

He glances at me, and a jolt passes down my spine at the eye contact. Why do I have to be such an adolescent about this whole business?

After a brief moment and a small bit of rustling, Sirius exits the broomshed, James's broom in hand. He smiles, the first one he has directed at me for a week.

"Who's broom am I to use?" I ask, returning the smile as well as I can.

"James's."

"Aren't you...?"

"Exactly."

I am relieved to hear this, although it also sets off warning bells in my mind. I don't like flying. It's unsteady and frightening, and what exactly is there to hold onto other than a thin strip of wood? Cushioning charms are all well and good, but if I fall, what if I can't save myself in time?

Therefore, it's a very good thing that I'm to ride with Sirius.

However, it is also very bad. I'll be behind him. Clinging to him. Likely making vague fearful noises.

Sirius's smile turns into a grin, wolfish, and my own smile becomes just a bit wider.

"Alright."

He lets the broom go beside him, mounting it much more gracefully than I feel I am capable of. I climb up behind him, only vaguely aware of what my own arms and legs are doing. I set one hand on his shoulder, hoping that it will be enough.

A small laugh from in front of me. The dark-haired boy takes my hand, gently pulls it to his waist. I swallow nervously and place my left hand in the same position.

Why is he doing this?

Why doesn't he hate me?  
He kicks off. Air and wind are the only sensations now that I am in capacity to notice.

That and fear.

I notice, after roughly five seconds in the air, twenty feet off the ground, that my legs are clinging at the knee to Sirius. My hands are like iron, and I loosen the grip, because frightened though I am, I can't let myself leave bruises.

He _laughs. _The bloody bastard laughs, loudly, too, even if half of it is caught in the airflow around us. I can feel his grin, I can just tell it's there.

A small laugh bubbles up in my own throat as well.

He drives us higher, and I can see the roof of the castle in detail now. Sirius steers us towards the loch, laughing again, and I find that my own laugh is easier to rise as well. It's so dark and yet everything is lit; the only light is from the sky above us, the half-moon and glowing stars.

I'm giddy.

We dip down, we're near the loch now. I can see a tentacle splashing out of the water. Lower, lower, and I find myself clinging tighter to Sirius. Somehow, in the midst of this, I realize that my chest is now pressed against his back, my hands wrapped fully around his waist.

His feet lightly skim the top of the water, just enough that a small splatter rises behind us. Mine skate the surface as well, and I am surprised to find that I don't mind it, though I know my trainers will be soggy and uncomfortable for the walk back.

He whoops loudly, and I find myself joining in, my grin as wide as my face can handle.

There is a feeling of genuine exhilaration, of joy, of simple _speed_ in my chest and my lungs. I wonder why we haven't done this before, why everyone doesn't do this, why I am afraid of flying at all.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: So I love you guys forever and until the end of time. I'm sorry, sincerely sorry, for taking the time I did in writing this—to be honest, I've been so busy it's been pushed into the back of my mind. I love you guys. Feel free to beat me with whatever eating utensil is closest to you._

_hope you still remember what this fic is._

_ If you like the chapter, please review! They honestly make my day. _

* * *

I am exhausted by the time we make the trek back to the room. I shiver the way there, and find myself wishing that he would put an arm around me... for warmth, of course.

"You're cold," he notices.

"Yes. I'm freezing."  
"It's because you're thin as a stick, you know. Lack of insulation and all that."

I do not find his conclusion comforting. I don't reply, and blame myself the entire way back that conversation isn't more forthcoming. If I had said something, perhaps we would have kept on talking.

I wish we were talking.

A ridiculously long trudge later (during which I wish strongly that we had brought James's cloak), we arrive back at the room.

"Thank you," I say quietly, nearly a whisper. I avoid his eyes.

"No... problem, then," he replies, and I can feel him looking at me.

After a few seconds, he heads back to his side of the room. I grudgingly take the time to remove my jacket, trainers, and trousers before I return to my own bed.

Sleep isn't forthcoming.

I can't stop thinking about him.

He doesn't hate me, not now, I can't argue that anymore. He took me out in the middle of the night for a broom ride. On a _single broom._ The best part of the ride, perhaps, for me, was the feeling of my arms wrapped around his waist. What if that was the best part for him, as well?

Ridiculous. Shut up, Remus brain. I can't fill my head with ideas like this that obviously don't make sense, because obviously he was just being a good friend because _obviously, _he just knows I'm too afraid of flying to have my own broom.

This is what I convince myself. I can't get my hopes up, I can't pretend he fancies me back. I'll just end up being pathetically rejected.

* * *

After breakfast, he asks for a word in an empty classroom. This sets my heart beating much faster than I'd prefer it to, and once again, I remind myself of a preteen female. Pathetic. As always.

He sits on the dusty teacher's desk in the front of the room, and I lean against a desk in the front row. We're silent.

He looks casually elegant, even though his tie is very uneven and he hasn't shaved this morning. Is it because of the way he holds himself, like he knows how gorgeous he is? Or is it just because he's... well, gorgeous?

I probably look like an understuffed scarecrow with an overlarge nose, poor little head trembling under the weight of it.

He looks up, and I look away. Funny how that happens.

"So," he begins, showing no signs of continuing.

"Yes."

He looks down at the ground.

"Please tell me why you don't hate me," I ask, voice level, a direct contrast to how I feel.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking up, though across the room.

"Well. Tell me why you tried snogging me."

I sigh, hoping that it doesn't sound shaky. I feel shaky. Was it shaky? God, that would be embarrassing...

"You... well. Look, I know I'm disgusting and I shouldn't think about blokes like that and you're my best mate and everything so it's so much worse, and I'm sorry for doing it and I won't do it again, alright?"

He smiles. The bastard _smiles. _What, is he going to start laughing now? Was last night just some sort of cruel joke?

"You've got it all wrong, mate," he says. His voice sounds mostly calm, although his eyes are directed towards the floor.

Have I always been able to hear my heart beat in my ears so clearly?

"Have I?" I prompt, because he hasn't spoken in a few moments.

"Alice is nice and she's pretty, but she's not funny like you or James or sometimes Pete."

I wait, watching him now that he isn't looking at me.

"Because Pete's usually awkward, you know, but then sometimes he says something-"

"I know, please get on with it," I interrupt. Am I always like this? Why do I sound so cold when I feel like squished up Jello inside?

"And so she's not like you blokes. It's nice to snog her sometimes but a lot of the time it feels sort of like cold meat, like if you put a porkchop in your-"

"For the love of god, don't continue."

"Sorry. So. I guess I'm trying to say that I'm sorry for being all scared when you kissed me."

I waited. He was... sorry? What did that have to do with Alice? He started speaking again.

"And I think maybe I was just scared because it felt really good... the, er, kiss, I mean, and... I shouldn't feel like that about... ahem, blokes, you know?" he says, sounding the most awkward and the most lovable I think he ever has.

He continues.

"So I suppose maybe we could try it again."

It's a literary trope, that "my heart stopped" thing. I had always scoffed when I came across it. However, I feel now that perhaps there's a bit of a realistic base to it.

"Wh... what?"

My voice squeaks. It fucking _squeaks._

_ "_Oh gods, I'm sorry, I didn't... I thought you... were you just experimenting or something? God, forget I said that, I'm going to go," he rushes, indeed heading the direction from whence he came.

I feel like I can't move, like my insides have now become frozen squished up Jello.

"Wait! Sirius!"

I walk quickly and catch him before he leaves (it helps that he's already stopped). I place an arm on his sleeve, drawing my face closer to his in what will likely be the most awkward, regretted attempt at a kiss in human history.

Our noses bump slightly but I don't care, and I can't think at all, and he leans forward too and our bodies are nearer now and our lips, they're _together _and he isn't frozen up.

* * *

_ A/N: So this might be the last chapter, there might be another after, it depends. Thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing and being the best things ever. 3_


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